


Roots

by KCKenobi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Childhood Memories, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Mess, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi, Poor Obi-Wan Kenobi, Protective Anakin Skywalker, Repressed Memories, Sad Obi-Wan Kenobi, Stewjon, Worried Anakin Skywalker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24543652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KCKenobi/pseuds/KCKenobi
Summary: On a mission to his home-planet, Obi-Wan grapples with memories from his past. But when he and Anakin go searching for his birth parents, they never expect what they’ll find.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 134
Kudos: 476





	1. The Seeds of Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Корни](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28079751) by [julyp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/julyp/pseuds/julyp)



“Oh, come on. Don’t rub it in.”

“Did I say anything?” Obi-Wan said. “I didn’t say anything!”

He was laughing, holding up his hands in surrender as Anakin stared down at his cards in disbelief. A royal flush. He had to be kidding.

“How do you win _every time_? Sabacc is luck as much as strategy, and you just…”

“Come now, Anakin, let’s be fair.” Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “I’m just the superior player.”

“Or the superior cheater.”

Anakin tossed his cards down on the table, incredulous. Ten years, _ten years_ of playing sabacc against Obi-Wan and he still couldn’t beat him. Ridiculous. He opened his mouth with a smirk, ready to shoot another playful insult his way.

But the satisfied smile had left Obi-Wan’s face. He was gazing toward the viewport, where the stars were slowing as they left hyperspace. Their destination grew nearer and nearer, the planet’s surface brightening with green.

“Stewjon,” Anakin said, following Obi-Wan’s gaze. “It kind of looks like Alderaan from space, doesn’t it?”

“What? Oh…yes, I suppose.”

Obi-Wan kept his eyes trained on the nearing planet, looking more distracted than Anakin had ever seen him.

“You’ve been here before,” Anakin said – more of a confirmation than a question.

Obi-Wan just nodded. “A long time ago.”

“What was the mission?”

“It…it wasn’t a mission,” Obi-Wan said. He finally turned away from the viewport, eyes skirting first to Anakin and then down to the floor. “I was born here.”

“You were…what?”

Anakin didn’t know why he was surprised – obviously his former master had to have come from _some_ where. But after all these years, he’d never even thought to ask. Jedi didn’t seem to care about such things – the younglings he’d grown up with all thought Anakin bizarre for not having been raised in the Temple like they were, and he quickly learned not to mention it. But they all must’ve been born elsewhere, even Obi-Wan. And the thought that Obi-Wan hadn’t always been a perfect jedi, that he’d been a child, with a home, and _parents_ … 

“Yes, Anakin, I _was_ born, believe it or not. I didn’t just pop up from the ground, fully grown and wielding a lightsaber.”

“Really? I thought that’s where all babies came from. Must’ve missed class the day they gave the birds and the bees talk,” Anakin said. “Seriously, though. How come you never told me where you were from?”

“I was three when the Seekers came for me – old by Jedi standards, but not old enough to remember much of anything. Nothing worth mentioning.” Obi-Wan leaned back toward the viewport, watching as they angled to enter the atmosphere. “Besides, it’s unimportant where a person comes from. What matters is where they go.”

Anakin just shrugged, but he wasn’t so sure he agreed. Where he came from was inextricable from who he was. To say his life on Tatooine was unimportant, to say his _mother_ was unimportant, would be ridiculous. No, Anakin decided, a person is a composite of where they come from and where they go. A composite of all those who’ve raised them, and then some.

But as he stared at Obi-Wan, watching as his eyes traced the green continents of Stewjon’s surface, he wondered: how could that be true, if a person didn’t really come from anywhere?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Obi-Wan almost hadn’t believed it when he’d heard they wouldn’t be going straight back to the battlefield – with the way the Clone Wars were going, it seemed like he and Anakin were being pulled in a thousand different directions. But this mission was simple. Just a sticky diplomatic thing – no droids involved.

So why, then, did he feel so uneasy?

They’d landed in Stewjon’s capital city – though “city” was a generous description. It was more of a loose collection of brick houses, connected by roads of dirt and cobblestone. People roamed the streets – mostly human, though some not. As Stewjon’s senator led Obi-Wan and Anakin through the center of town, Obi-Wan found himself searching their faces. Looking for someone, anyone, he might recognize from his childhood – though he knew he shouldn’t care.

The planet’s aura was warm and full of life – the wind, the dancing tree branches, the faint laughter of children somewhere far off. The smell of burning wood as twin moons appeared in the sky. He wanted it to be familiar. He wanted to remember being here. But his memory was foggy. It didn’t feel like home at all.

“We’re sorry we can’t offer you more generous accommodations,” Stewjon’s senator, Nia, said as they approached a little brick hotel on the lake, “but I’m sure you’ll find the inn more pleasureful than sleeping on your ship.”

“We’re grateful for everything you’ve provided us.”

The words had barely left Obi-Wan’s mouth before it hit him.

_That scent…_

And he remembered.

 _The kitchen_. _Three years old, sitting at a highchair. Willberries oozing juice onto his fingers. Wind from the open kitchen window…_

“You okay?”

Obi-Wan suddenly realized he’d stopped walking. Anakin and Senator Nia were both staring at him, brows furrowed.

“Senator,” Obi-Wan said slowly, “what’s that smell?”

“You mean the willberries?” she replied, sniffing the air. “I get so used to the smell I hardly notice it. But yes, we’re right near the fields. They’re native to Stewjon – one of our specialties. And they make a fine whiskey, if I might say so.”

“Willberries,” Obi-Wan repeated to himself. The memory had already started to fizzle in his mind, details slipping as he grasped for them. There had to be more than that – more than a kitchen and some fruit. What about family? Where were they, in his memory?

_No, stop that,_ Obi-Wan scolded himself. _Jedi don’t care about family._

As he followed Senator Nia and Anakin into the inn, he tried to make himself believe it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Obi-Wan was hanging his dress robes in the motel closet when Anakin flopped down on the bed.

“So,” Anakin said, “are we close?”

Obi-Wan shut the closet door and busied himself folding his spare pairs of socks. “Close to what?”

“Your home. Was it near the capital?”

“The Temple is my home, Anakin.”

“You know what I mean.”

Obi-Wan sighed. So much for feigning ignorance. He purposefully avoided Anakin’s eyes as he nodded.

“I think so,” he said. “I don’t really remember.”

“Then we should go. We have plenty of time tomorrow before the negotiations start. We can leave here first thing in the morning and have brunch with your parents, and still have plenty of time to – ”

“Absolutely not. We’re here because we have a job to do, and that’s _all_ we’re going to do.”

Anakin sat up, his legs dangling off the side of the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding. You’re not the least bit curious about them?” he said. “What they’re like, what they do for a living? Whether they’ve got your hair, or your blue eyes, or…”

“I’m not wasting my time seeking attachment,” Obi-Wan snapped. “And certainly not at the expense of our mandate here.”

“Attachment, a-shmachment. This might be your only chance _ever_ to meet your real family, and you’d pass that up to sit in a dingy motel and reread the mission files?”

With all his belongings put away, Obi-Wan kicked his suitcase under the skinny twin bed – using a little more force than was necessary. They were not having this conversation. They simply _weren’t._ Anakin was just projecting his own need for love and attachment onto him. He didn’t _actually_ want to meet his birth parents.

Right?

With a slow exhale, he kicked off his boots and began undoing his utility belt for bed.

“Anakin, I don’t even know that they’re still alive. For all I know, they’ve been dead thirty years. Or forgotten I even existed.” He slid off his tunic, pulling on a nightshirt. “But regardless,” he said, “I’m alright with not knowing.”

“But – ”

“And I will _continue_ not knowing,” he insisted, cutting off Anakin’s protest, “as is the will of the Force.”

Obi-Wan climbed into bed, ignoring Anakin’s bewildered stare. He could feel how much his former padawan wanted to argue – it was practically rolling off him in waves. But Obi-Wan turned onto his side, facing away from him and effectively ending the conversation.

“Now, goodnight. We’ve got work to do tomorrow – best be well-rested.”

He closed his eyes and did his best to fake sleep. From the twin bed beside him, he could feel Anakin staring at him, still sitting and fully dressed. But then there was rustling and footsteps, a whirlwind of quiet energy, until finally the room went dark and still.

But as he lay there, listening as Anakin’s breathing grew deep and even, Obi-Wan found himself doing it again – trying to remember. To conjure up any memories of fondness, or family, or home.

He fell asleep dreaming of willberries and kitchen curtains, grasping for the love he was forbidden to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! The next chapter we really get into the hurt/comfort, so stay tuned 😊 This will be a relatively short fic, with 4 total chapters about the length of this one. Expect a good bit of Obi-Wan angst and comforting/protective Anakin (because what else would you expect from me, lol). I’ll be posting a chapter every few days.
> 
> So, what do you think – will Obi-Wan try to find his parents himself, or is Anakin going to have to drag him there by the ear?


	2. Growing Unease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan catches a glimpse of someone familiar in town, sending him into a spiral of anxiety. He makes an impulsive decision.

_This woman is far too cheerful to work in politics,_ Obi-Wan decided.

Senator Nia had met him and Anakin at the motel, smiling as though this was a pleasure-trip. As if they weren’t about to spend precious hours of their lives listening to petty political arguments.

“Good evening, Master Skywalker. Master Kenobi. Looking dashing, as usual,” she purred, then paused. “Say…Kenobi. You’re not related to the Stewjon Kenobis, are you? The ones who live here in the village?”

His heart skipped a beat.

“I…in the village?”

“Yes, just on the other side of the willberry fields,” she said. “Any relation?”

Obi-Wan was acutely aware of his quickening pulse. “No, senator. None.”

“Hmm,” Nia said with a shrug. “Just a coincidence, then.”

But as they started across town, Obi-Wan knew that it couldn’t be.

_They’re alive. My family._

And for a moment, he indulged himself in wondering – did they look like him? Maybe laugh the same way, have the same wry smiles? Would he have joked with his mother, talked politics with his father, gotten along with his siblings?

_No._ It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. That was not the life of a Jedi.

But he was still trying to convince himself when the street erupted with the sound of sirens.

Stewjon police vehicles sped down the road, stirring up dust in their faces and muddling their vision. Obi-Wan coughed into his elbow, watching as the vehicles came to a stop in front of a shoddy tavern.

Senator Nia was already shaking her head. “That place is an embarrassment,” she said when she saw him watching. “I promise we’re not a violent people, Master Kenobi. The tavern just has a tendency to, well…bring out the worst in people.”

Through the dust, he could see the makings of a bar-fight – someone had crashed through the window, and now fists were swinging in the street. Somewhere nearby, a child was crying.

But that wasn’t what caught his attention.

No, his eyes were fixed on a woman skirting around the edge of the tavern. A woman with a long braid of auburn hair.

Hair exactly the color of his.

Her back was turned, so Obi-Wan couldn’t see her face. She lingered by the police speeders, watching as the officers broke up the fight. And for some reason, his breath caught in his throat.

_Don’t be ridiculous,_ he told himself. _Plenty of people have the same color hair as you. It doesn’t mean you’re related._

But his family was alive. They were alive and living right here in the village. Wasn’t it possible…couldn’t she maybe be…?

“Ready to go?”

He tore his eyes away from the woman to find Anakin waving a hand in his face. Senator Nia was eyeing him with arched brows, and he realized they’d stopped in the middle of the street.

“Um, of course. Lead the way.”

Before they turned the corner, Obi-Wan looked back, searching the crowd.

The woman was gone.

But Obi-Wan’s mind was doing somersaults. _That hair, the scent of willberries, sirens flashing…a crying child, voices, wind…_

Wait – sirens? There were no police sirens in his memory.

Or were there?

_Someone lifting him out of his highchair. A woman singing, low and atonal. Twin moons shining through an open window as he cried, and cried, and cried, and…_

“Obi-Wan…?”

“What? Oh.”

They’d stopped outside the Stewjon government building, where the negotiations were being held. He hardly remembered walking there.

_A woman singing…a woman singing…_

Obi-Wan suddenly felt like he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Master Kenobi, are you alright?” said the senator.

Obi-Wan tried to nod, because of _course_ he was alright. His chest just hurt a little. And…and he supposed he was a little dizzy. From a few streets away, the sound of sirens still rang in his ears like a scream…

“Forgive me, I think I just…” He swallowed, but his throat was dry. “I think I need a little air.”

He ignored Anakin and Senator Nia’s concerned faces as he pushed past them, fighting the urge to run.

The next thing he knew, he’d found his way to the ‘fresher and was slamming the stall door behind him. Feeling unsteady on his feet, he sank down onto the closed toilet seat and tried to breathe normally.

_What the kriff was that all about?_

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, noticing for the first time that he was trembling. Why had that bothered him so much? What couldn’t he remember? The memory was fragmented, haunting. The voice, singing…could it have been his mother? His father? Did he have siblings he couldn’t remember?

But no, no. _I don’t need to know. I don’t care,_ he told himself. _Family is attachment. I shouldn’t even be curious about them. I shouldn’t even be…_

“Obi-Wan?”

_Blast._

Obi-Wan opened the eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed and saw Anakin’s feet at the bottom of the stall door. He exhaled, ignoring how the breath shook as it left his lungs.

“I know we’re close, Anakin, but taking a dump is usually something a person does alone.”

Anakin snorted. “Come on, open up. What’s really going on?”

Obi-Wan held two fingers to his neck, feeling for his rapid pulse. He took a few more shaky breaths, trying in vain to slow it before he stood and unlocked the stall door.

“Nothing. I thought I saw…” His voice trailed off as Anakin’s brows shot up. “I just remembered something. From my childhood, nothing important. I shouldn’t have let it distract me. Now, come along, we’ve got negotiations to attend to.”

“What did you remember?”

For a moment, it came rushing back to him – the wind, the sirens, the woman’s voice. A memory perched on the edge of his consciousness, just out of reach. But he shook his head.

“Nothing of consequence.”

Pushing past Anakin, he approached the sink and splashed a bit of water in his face. His hands were a little steadier as he dried them.

But in the mirror, he could see Anakin behind him watching with worry, looking utterly unconvinced.

“Look. I know you’d rather pretend you’re made of durasteel,” Anakin said, “But you’re human. You’re allowed to let things get to you.”

“Nothing’s getting to me.”

“Right. And that’s why you’re shaking and pale as an eopie?”

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan said, finally turning to face Anakin. “I just felt a little ill on the walk over. I’m alright now.”

He felt Anakin probing his shields, clearly not buying it.

Obi-Wan huffed. “Alright. I suppose being here has been a little…strange for me,” he said. “I didn’t think it would be, but then I thought I saw my…my mum in town, and…”

“What?! And you didn’t say anything?!”

“…but I’m _fine_. It probably wasn’t her. And even if it was – “

There was a loud chiming from outside the ‘fresher – the clock, striking quarter of the hour.

Obi-Wan fell silent, his eyes dropping to the floor. “We have to go.”

Anakin looked like he was about to argue. But he settled for putting a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Hey,” he said. “Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“I know,” Anakin said, though Obi-Wan got the feeling he was humoring him. “But it’s also okay if you’re not.”

Obi-Wan looked up, almost startled by the softness in his voice. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, he let himself feel secure and safe in the warmth he found there. It was almost enough to make him tell Anakin everything – about the dreams, the piecemeal memories, the growing feeling that something was amiss.

But not quite.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s not be late. Wouldn’t want to tarnish Senator Nia’s perpetual smile.”

He turned away sharply, ignoring how Anakin’s face fell. Pretending not to notice the stark absence of Anakin’s hand on his arm.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

By one in the morning, Obi-Wan was fairly certain he had the motel ceiling memorized.

With the negotiations complete, they’d be leaving Stewjon at dawn. It wouldn’t be long before their brief respite from combat would be over, and Obi-Wan knew he should take advantage of the opportunity to get a full night’s sleep. But every time he closed his eyes, the sliver of memory flashed across his eyelids – of sitting in a highchair, crying as the scent of willberries permeated the air, someone singing low and off-key.

He was missing something. He had to be – something about the scene just didn’t feel right. Those sirens in the village had set off a niggling unease that he couldn’t quite pin down, and the Force had been screaming in his ear ever since. And then there was Anakin’s nagging – _your last chance to know them…your only opportunity to ever learn where you came from_ …

It didn’t matter where he came from. It was the will of the Force that the Jedi had come for him, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. It didn’t matter who his birth family was. It only mattered where life had taken him.

But life had taken him back to Stewjon, to the exact village where he was born. Couldn’t _that_ be the will of the Force, too?

Obi-Wan sat up in bed.

The people of Stewjon were night-owls – perhaps that was why he’d always had trouble sleeping – and he could hear the distant murmur of voices outside the motel window. It would be easy to slip into the street, blend into the crowd, find his way across town to the willberry fields. It couldn’t be far. He’d be back in less than an hour, Anakin never the wiser…

_No._ _This is a terrible idea. The impulse of a mere padawan._

Yet even as he thought it, he pushed back the bedsheets.

He got dressed in the dark, careful not to slam any drawers or step too loudly. Several times Anakin turned over in his sleep, groaning a little as he rolled, and Obi-Wan nearly leapt back into bed and tried to forget he’d even considered this. But each time the memory came back to him, and he rested in it, reaching out for voices and hands and faces he couldn’t recall.

He turned the doorknob.

“Obi-Wan?”

_Kriff._

He whirled to see Anakin sitting up in bed, groggily running a hand through his mussed hair. He dropped his hand from the doorknob as if it had burnt his skin.

“Where are you going?” Anakin murmured.

“Erm…the ‘fresher.”

“In your boots? Fully dressed, with your hair combed?”

_Double kriff._ “Go back to bed, Anakin.”

But Anakin had already rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He flipped the lamp on, flooding the room with yellow light.

“You’re going to find them, aren’t you?”

“Anakin – ”

“Oh, thank the Force. I couldn’t believe you’d leave tomorrow without even trying,” he said, practically giddy as he slid out of bed. “Wait one second, I just have to throw on a shirt and some shoes and…”

“No. You’re not going. _I_ shouldn’t even be going,” he said. “In fact – you know what? I’m not. I’m just sleep deprived, making half-witted decisions…”

“No, no, we’re going.” He yanked a shirt over his head. “You’ll regret it the rest of your life if we don’t.”

“I might regret it the rest of my life if we _do._ Goodnight, Anakin. I’m going to sleep.”

“Well, _I’m_ not,” Anakin said. He paused then, as if he were remembering something, before he smirked. “I’m going to find your parents.”

“Absolutely not. What would you even say?! _‘Hello there, I’m the best friend of your long-lost son!’_ Don’t be an idiot. You can’t just show up by yourself.”

“Well then,” he said, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself. “I guess you’ll have to come along.”

Anakin grabbed his lightsaber off the nightstand, clipped it to his belt, and walked out the door.

Obi-Wan stared after him, listening as Anakin’s footsteps pattered down the motel hallway. He exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face.

_I have a bad feeling about this_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol Anakin took a page out of Padme’s book in AotC with the whole “You’ll just have to come along” trick. Next update to come in a few days – get ready to meet Obi-Wan’s family! Let me know what you think, I love hearing from you guys 😊 Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> Also - I'm on tumblr now! Come say hello! [ KCKenobi ](https://kckenobi.tumblr.com/)


	3. Uprooted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Anakin go searching for Obi-Wan's birth parents.

The twin moons illuminated the willberry fields, painting the night in a soft pink glow. Berry bushes extended in rows for what looked like miles – a sea of crimson and green.

It might have been beautiful, if Obi-Wan hadn’t been on the verge of tearing out his hair.

The logical voice in his head was screaming that this was a mistake – he was being impulsive, acting in search of attachments he shouldn’t even desire. But in spite of himself, his mind kept drifting, inventing possibilities for what might have been. The love of a mother’s embrace. Her soft skin as she rocked him, maybe singing, her fingers against his face. The strength of his father’s hands, his beard that hid a wry smile and dry wit. His parents, dancing in the kitchen to music from the holoTV while he watched from his cradle. Being tucked into bed, read to, kissed on the head. Perhaps they’d been happy. Perhaps he’d been loved.

And perhaps they’d cried when the Jedi came. Dared not keep him from his destiny, from a life of service to the galaxy, but cried for their own loss all the same. Perhaps they still thought of him, sometimes. Missed him, the child – and later the man – they’d never gotten to know.

He couldn’t remember any of it. But some visceral part of him wished he did.

Anakin must’ve sensed his tension, because he nudged his shoulder as they walked. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Just…thinking.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

“I know.”

Obi-Wan internally cringed at the bite in his voice and nearly apologized. But Anakin just nodded.

“What are you going to say to them?”

“What am I going to…?” He swallowed, nearly tasting the scent of willberries against his dry throat. “Nothing. I was thinking I’d just, you know…peek in the window.”

Anakin snorted. “That’s creepy.”

“Well, I never intended to walk right up and introduce myself. Merely to satisfy my childish curiosity. And yours,” he snapped. “But regardless, it’s too late to knock on their door. I’d be intruding.”

“Oh, but spying on them isn’t intruding?”

He huffed and opened his mouth to argue, but for once in his life, no words came.

“Look,” Anakin said finally. “I know this is uncharted territory. But they’re your _parents_. Just talk to them. Like you’d talk to me.”

“Would you kindly stop acting like I’m a kriffing youngling?”

“Well, maybe not _exactly_ like you’d talk to me.”

Obi-Wan was ready to shoot back with another retort, but the words died on his lips. Because suddenly, there it was.

The house. _His_ old house.

It was rickety, made of old logs and held up by luck. Vines crawled up the sides, curling upward like gnarled hands. There was a light on inside, and the blue flicker of holoTV shone through the glass.

And Obi-Wan remembered.

_Three years old. Sitting on the front porch step. Lots of people, someone asking me questions. Flashing lights. Striped speeders._

He realized he’d stopped walking at the foot of the lawn, eyes trained on the porch step.

Anakin had stopped with him. “Want me to wait here, or come with you?”

His feet felt rooted to the spot, paralyzed at the sight of the house. “You can come, I suppose,” he said, aiming for casual. But truthfully, without Anakin beside him he was fairly certain he wouldn’t make it to the door.

But Anakin was beside him. He reached out for Obi-Wan’s arm and lightly squeezed it before letting go.

They started up the lawn.

The steps up to the front porch squeaked beneath their weight. Anakin nudged aside an empty bottle by his feet, and it skittered across the aging wood so loudly Obi-Wan winced. So much for inconspicuous. With hands he wished weren’t shaking, Obi-Wan straightened his tunic and smoothed back his hair, feeling utterly foolish and utterly petrified all at once.

And then there was nothing left to do but knock.

So he did.

For a moment the house was still, its open windows exhaling only the sound of the evening holonews. Perhaps no one was home. Perhaps they were sound asleep.

But then came footsteps, creaking across the floor. Slowly, painstakingly, closer and closer. Obi-Wan’s pulse seemed to double its speed.

And then, as the doorknob turned, it stopped altogether.

_My mum._

And his fragmented memories suddenly had a face.

Auburn hair, streaked with white at the roots, fell loosely in a braid over her shoulder. Skin chiseled with wrinkles, dark circles deep beneath stormy blue eyes, she looked fatigued. Worn. But Obi-Wan found himself imagining what she’d look like smiling – begging his memory to produce something to go off of. He imagined her laughing, holding him, looking younger and lighter without the weight of years. He saw an image of kindness, gentleness, love.

But then she opened her mouth, and the image shattered.

“What’re you dimwits loitering on my porch for?” she snapped. “It’s a bit late for door-to-door salesmen.”

She leaned against the doorframe, her head lolling to the side as her scowl deepened.

“Ma’am,” said Obi-Wan, effortfully keeping his voice steady. “We’re sorry to disturb you at such a peculiar hour. We’re Jedi Knights, and – ”

“Well, how about you bid me a Jedi _good_ -night and scram.”

The bitterness in her voice was scathing. Obi-Wan blinked.

_I knew it. This was a terrible idea._

“You’re right, ma’am. We’ll be on our way. Apologies for the intrusion – ”

But Anakin grabbed his elbow to keep him from turning around, digging his fingernails into Obi-Wan’s skin as if to say: _Not so fast._

“Ma’am, what he means to say is…” Anakin extended his hand with a wide smile. “My name is Anakin Skywalker. And my friend here…”

Obi-Wan’s mouth suddenly felt like it was lined with sandpaper.

“I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said softly, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “Your…your son.”

The words felt foreign coming out of his mouth, as if they weren’t sure they belonged there. They hung in the air, as dense and permeating as the scent of willberries.

Until his mother snuffed them out.

“I don’t have a son.”

Obi-Wan and Anakin stared at her.

Because what was he supposed to do – argue with her? Maybe Senator Nia had been mistaken, and the Stewjon Kenobis didn’t live here anymore. Maybe they’d gone to the wrong house. Maybe his wishful thinking had driven him to insanity. A thousand possibilities buzzed through his brain, tangling in any sentence he could think to utter, until he couldn’t speak at all.

When the silence had stretched on for uncomfortably long, Anakin coughed.

“But…aren’t you Mrs. Kenobi?” he said.

She scoffed – a bitter, guttural sound. “ _Mrs._ ,” she hissed. “Try again.”

Oh. _Oh._

“Ah, um, _Ms._ Kenobi, then,” Anakin corrected. “Didn’t you…thirty-six years ago…”

“It’s none of your business what I was doing thirty-six years ago. Just like it was nobody else’s business, either,” she snapped. “In fact…who are you? Sha-Na and Lee put you up to this, didn’t they? Those scumbags…”

“No. I – ” Obi-Wan said, finally finding his voice.

“Then _who?!_ All these years of being branded with a karking scarlet letter and this town still won’t let me alone.” She laughed, the sound teetering on deranged. “My son. My _son_. They’ve really gone too far this time…”

“Ms. Kenobi. This…this is Obi-Wan,” Anakin said gently. “You…really don’t remember?”

Her eyes narrowed and she looked seconds away from punching Anakin in the mouth.

“As if I could forget.”

And then suddenly Obi-Wan’s eyes met hers, a tempest ever-growing. He noticed then that they were glassy – a little bloodshot, even, the whites streaked with rivers of red. Fighting the urge to look away, he stared back, searching them. Searching for any hint of the woman he expected, the mother he hoped had been his.

He found none.

“I lost _everything_ – my family, my home, the love of my life. My future. And became nothing but a knocked-up pariah,” she spat. “I have spent every waking moment of the past thirty-six years trying to pick up the pieces of my life, and I’ll spend the rest of it regretting I ever even tried.”

She was gripping the doorframe as though it were the only thing holding her up, her knuckles white and boney. Every word seemed to pain her as it thrust from her lungs, and each one slapped Obi-Wan with equal sting.

_No. No._

“Who knows,” she hissed. “Maybe you really are my son and maybe you aren’t. But I know one thing for sure – the beginning of _his_ life was the end of mine.”

She staggered then, leaving the doorframe and stepping out onto the porch. She’d been getting louder and louder, her words slurring as she practically spit them in Obi-Wan’s face. Until finally, they were nearly nose to nose.

So close he could smell it on her breath.

Willberry Whiskey.

And that was enough, that single scent, for the missing puzzle pieces to fly into place.

He remembered.

_Obi-Wan, three years old. Sitting in a highchair, wind dancing through the open kitchen windows, his fingers sticky with willberries. His mother’s voice, singing._

_No._

_No, not singing at all._

_Moaning._

_He can see her from his highchair – face-down on the floor, auburn hair in tangles, her breathing harsh and ragged. There’s a broken bottle shattered on the kitchen tile, glass shards and a vile pink liquid spilled everywhere. She moans, her voice guttural. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. He cries, but no answer._

_He keeps crying._

_Hours alone in the highchair. Hours of listening to his mother cry out, staring at her unconscious form, until the sun sets and there is nothing, nothing but darkness and anguished moans – one of them, his own._

_And then suddenly, light – the face of a neighbor, someone lifting him into their arms. Sitting on the front porch step, tears dried on his cheeks. Watching the flashing lights, eyeing the police officers who come and go, catching bits of conversation he doesn’t understand – “dangerously intoxicated…neglect…a mother at 16 years old…get social services involved…”_

And Obi-Wan knew, then. He knew.

There was never any laughter or singing or parents dancing to the holoTV. No warm embraces or dry wit or sparkling eyes. There was no love.

He could feel Anakin’s shock rippling through the Force and imagined his face showed it, too. But Obi-Wan kept his own face blank. He looked his mother up and down again – the bloodshot eyes, rumpled clothing, gray frizz framing her face as she hiccupped, now. He tried to bring back the mother he’d imagined. The mother who’d sung and held him. The mother who’d loved him.

But it was no use. Painful truth had shattered the memory.

Obi-Wan was already stepping backwards.

“I’m sorry we disturbed you, Ms. Kenobi,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. “Have a good evening.”

And he turned away quickly, feet nearly scrambling down the porch steps and into the night.

Quickly enough, he hoped, that she or Anakin didn’t see the shimmer of tears in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SW Tumblr: [ KCKenobi ](https://kckenobi.tumblr.com/)


	4. Something To Hold On To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan finds comfort in the wake of loss.

By the time Anakin leapt off the porch after him, Obi-Wan was already halfway across the lawn. They left Ms. Kenobi in the doorway, her eyes vacant and forlorn.

Anakin was unnerved to see a similar emptiness in Obi-Wan’s face.

“Obi-Wan…”

“Don’t.”

“She was drunk.” Anakin was practically jogging to keep up, and tried reaching for Obi-Wan’s arm. “She didn’t mean – ”

“I said _don’t_ ,” he snapped, yanking his arm away. “It was the will of the Force. A lesson in attachment. There’s no sense in discussing it.”

“She’s your _mother_. You’re allowed to be a little – ”

“Well, I’m not.”

They walked across the willberry fields in silence, then, no longer noticing the sweet scent or the cherry moonlight. It seemed wrong for anything to look beautiful now.

Though he dared not turn his head, Anakin watched Obi-Wan from the corner of his eye. To someone who didn’t know him well, nothing in his face would betray that he was upset.

But Anakin _did_ know him well. And so he caught the way Obi-Wan was chewing the inside of his cheek. How he folded his arms across his chest, as if to barricade himself. The way his eyes stared straight ahead, looking without really seeing. Little cracks in the armor, cracks only Anakin would notice.

And through them, he saw the wounds.

_I don’t have a son._

Anakin couldn’t even imagine how he’d feel in Obi-Wan’s place. Yeah, he’d lost his mom – first when he’d left Tatooine as a boy, and then again to death. But at least he’d had someone to lose. He had memories of being hugged and tucked into bed. He’d had a mother. And then there was Padmé, as much family as any blood relative could ever be. He’d spent his entire life knowing that, no matter where he was in the galaxy, somebody somewhere cared about him. He knew he was wanted. Knew he was loved.

But Obi-Wan was completely alone. No parents. No wife. Even Qui-Gon, the closest thing to a father a Jedi could know, had been taken away from him.

And Anakin caught himself thinking: _what would that be like?_

_To know you were completely alone in the universe?_

They finished the journey in silence. When the willberry bushes on either side started to dwindle, the motel coming into view, Obi-Wan slowed his pace.

“Get to bed, Anakin.” The village was far quieter than when they’d set out, and his voice seemed brittle in the empty air. “I’m sorry I dragged you along on a wild bantha chase.”

They’d reached the motel entrance, and Anakin had already climbed up the porch steps and reached for the door. But he turned then, realizing Obi-Wan wasn’t behind him. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, gripping the railing with white knuckles. He didn’t meet Anakin’s eyes.

“Where are you going?”

“To meditate. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Obi-Wan…”

Obi-Wan had turned away, leaving Anakin to stare at the back of his head, where his hair caught the rose-colored moonlight. And really, it was striking – how the color was so near to his mother’s. It had been bizarre. Seeing her stand across from him like that, the doorframe separating them, was like looking in some sort of distorted mirror. The hair was the same, the eyes, the fair skin, narrow build…but something was different. Off. Because inside, Obi-Wan was fire and wit and joy and light. That woman had been smoke and bitterness and shadows of gray. Where he was a wildfire, she was the ashes that remained.

Though Obi-Wan didn’t seem much like a wildfire now.

The motel’s front porch flickered in the light of a neon _vacancy_ sign, and the air crackled with its electronic buzzing. The atmosphere felt charged – like if Anakin moved or spoke or even breathed, something would ignite. But he forced himself to step forward, onto the second step of the motel porch.

“You remembered,” he said softly, “didn’t you?”

Obi-Wan didn’t speak. His arms were folded across his chest, and he didn’t move his eyes from the sprawling willberry fields. His gaze was distant. As if he could see all the way across, to the crumbling little house of a crumbling woman. As if he wished she were staring back.

Anakin hesitantly descended the porch steps until he met Obi-Wan’s height.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, following Obi-Wan’s gaze across the field. “But I imagine it hurts. Losing family always does.”

“She isn’t my family,” Obi-Wan replied. His voice was tight but a little less sharp than before. “Not really. And I can’t exactly lose what I never had, can I?”

Anakin eased out a sigh. “Still,” he said. “It sucks. Mothers are supposed to love their kids.”

“Yes. Well.” Obi-Wan swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Not all mothers are Shmi Skywalker.”

That should’ve stung. They hadn’t talked about his mother – not since after Geonosis, when Obi-Wan found out that she’d died. But for some reason, Anakin found himself nodding. Because he was right – for all of Anakin’s messed-up childhood, there had been that one streak of light. He had one thing that Obi-Wan never did: roots.

“I was foolish,” Obi-Wan finally said. He gave a shaky sigh, leaning back against the railing. “I shouldn’t have been…hopeful. I shouldn’t even care at all.”

“No. Caring isn’t foolish,” Anakin said. “It’s human.”

“Jedi are supposed to be more than human.”

He sank down then – suddenly, as if his legs had decided not to hold him up anymore – sitting on the bottom step with his arms around his knees. Anakin slowly lowered to sit beside him.

And for a moment there was nothing but night – the bugs chirping, the neon light winking on and off, the sound of their unsteady breaths mixing together. The branches of willberry bushes pushed through the spindles of the railing, and Obi-Wan fiddled with a leaf until it broke off in his fingers. He tore the leaf slowly, bit by bit, letting the green shreds flutter to his feet.

“I just…I suppose I always figured that, even if I’d never known them…” he admitted softly. “There was still someone out there who’d loved me, once.” He smiled then, but it was weak. “Perhaps I’m simply not meant to have anyone close to me.”

“That’s bantha fodder.”

“Is it?”

Anakin swallowed. _Qui-Gon, Satine, Taria Damsin, and now his mother…_ There were so many. Everyone he’d loved, everyone who’d loved _him_ …gone.

_Well_ , Anakin decided _, not everyone_.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” he said softly. “Because I’m here.”

When Obi-Wan didn’t answer, Anakin thought at first that he’d overstepped. Was he wrong, he wondered, to assume he meant as much to Obi-Wan as Qui-Gon had? As Satine?

He glanced over. Obi-Wan was nodding slowly, his face stoic and inscrutable. But in the flickering light, Anakin caught the shine in his eyes. They were damp, the rims tinged pink.

And then even if Obi-Wan couldn’t speak, Anakin heard his fear as though he’d shouted it:

_You’re here,_ it insisted. _You’re here, but for how much longer?_

The war was only worsening. They spent their days on the front lines, blaster bolts flying in every direction, buildings collapsing and ships going down and men falling on either side. They both knew it, as all soldiers did – there was no guarantee. Not even for the Chosen One.

But Anakin could guarantee one thing: when death came for him, it would have to pry him from Obi-Wan with durasteel claws.

He nudged Obi-Wan with his knee. “I’m never going to leave you,” he said. “The Republic could fall, every star in the galaxy could go out, the midi-chlorians could disappear from our veins…” He gestured dramatically, and Obi-Wan snorted. “…but I won’t leave you. I promise.”

Obi-Wan was silent then, his fingers still fiddling with the willberry leaves. The emerald shreds tore easily, each piece so fragile. The whole bush looked fragile, really. Like he could rip it out of the ground with one hand.

But Anakin knew that couldn’t be true. The roots ran deep beneath them, tangling in the dirt like electrical wires, reaching beyond and beyond and beyond. It wasn’t fragile at all – not as long as it had something to hold on to.

Obi-Wan ripped up the last of the leaf, the pieces coming to rest on the tips of his boots. When he saw a few droplets of clear liquid fall there too, Anakin didn’t say anything.

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan said. He sniffed and palmed at his cheeks. “For coming with me. I’m…I’m glad you were there.”

Anakin nodded, though it didn’t feel like enough. He wanted to go back in time and undo every loss, to banish all the ways that Obi-Wan was hurting. That was impossible, of course. Even for the great Anakin Skywalker.

But he could do this – be something for Obi-Wan to hold on to. To be his roots, inextricable and anything but fragile, reaching out endlessly. Beyond and beyond and beyond.

Wordlessly, Anakin slipped his arm around Obi-Wan. The weight of it was enough to steady his slight shuddering, though he felt Obi-Wan’s back straighten and his body tense just a little. But then Obi-Wan reached up, finding Anakin’s hand where it rested on his shoulder. He held on to it as though it was the only thing in the universe that was real. Like it could vanish in an instant, lost in the battle fray or the chaos of tomorrow.

But for now they were here, where the night bugs were singing and the porch step was painted in moonlight.

And neither of them was letting go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was going to be the last chapter, but I felt like we needed to return to Obi-Wan’s POV one last time – to hear how he’s coming to terms with everything. So stay tuned for one more – an epilogue – in the next day or so! 
> 
> Thank you so much for your kind comments and kudos so far! Let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Tumblr: [ KCKenobi ](https://kckenobi.tumblr.com/)


	5. Epilogue

The scrambled eggs felt like stones in the pit of Obi-Wan’s stomach.

When the sun came up on their last morning in the motel, Anakin hadn’t taken no for an answer. “ _Eat,”_ he’d insisted, already shoveling enough food onto Obi-Wan’s plate to feed a dozen clone troopers.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t care. You need to eat.”

“I – “

He hadn’t been able to finish that protest – he was too busy dodging the forkful of eggs Anakin was shoving at his face.

So now, as they headed toward the landing platform, Obi-Wan felt a little queasy. Which was ridiculous, of course – he was fine. Last night had been…embarrassing, but he was _fine_. He should be relieved that they were finally departing, the mission a success.

Yet, as he stepped off the planet’s soft ground and onto the rigid durasteel, relief was the last thing he felt.

He stopped walking halfway up the ship’s boarding ramp.

_“The beginning of_ his _life was the end of mine.”_

Even now, the words still echoed through him, tinged with remorse. He wondered if she even remembered anything – had she woken up this morning, hungover and unable to recall that Obi-Wan had even come by? If so, perhaps that was best. Blissful ignorance. He almost wished he could say the same for himself.

_That’s not true,_ he scolded himself _. Not really._

Because as Anakin walked ahead of him, prattling on about Stewjonian ship design, the realization struck him like a blaster bolt. Yes, perhaps she wasn’t the mother he thought he remembered. But even if she was everything he’d hoped to find, Obi-Wan knew one thing for certain: he’d trade that life in an instant for the one he had now. For moments like this morning – Anakin practically force-feeding him scrambled eggs. Like a few hours of reprieve from battle, joking with Cody and his men over ration bars. Like sparring with Ahsoka, inwardly chuckling as she made the same mistakes Anakin once had, giving her the same guidance and advice. Like his days now, for all their joy and grief.

So no, he decided. This place was never his destiny. His destiny wasn’t a place at all.

It was a lifetime of little moments just like that.

Anakin had realized Obi-Wan wasn’t behind him and turned, the corner of his mouth quirking up. Obi-Wan found himself looking out over the village, where the early morning streets laid bare and serene, his eyes lingering somewhere out over the willberry field.

“Saying goodbye?” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan snorted. “More like good riddance.”

But he took one last look, as if to memorize the shape of the skyline and map the cobblestone streets in his mind.

Then he turned away, leaving it all behind him – where the past belonged.

When they’d tossed down their luggage and initiated the launch, Anakin put the ship on autopilot.

“Well, then. I think you owe me a rematch.” Waving a deck of cards in the air, he sunk down at the table and kicked his feet onto it. “Care to humor me?”

Obi-Wan felt his real smile pushing onto his face for the first time in days.

“Honestly,” he said, “it’s as if you _want_ to have your ass handed to you.”

He pulled out a chair as Anakin started to shuffle, and they fell into comfortable familiarity. It was good. Soon, he knew, they’d be back on the front lines, back to the uncertainty of victory and death. That was life now, after all.

But for a moment, they could pretend that it wasn’t. For a moment, there was nothing but this – nothing but Anakin’s head tossed back in laughter, nothing but cards slapping down on the table as playful insults flew back and forth, the language of brotherly love. It was only a moment. But somehow, it was an eternity, too.

This time, no one watched as the planet grew smaller and smaller in the viewport. With Stewjon fading behind them, they were wrapped in the blackness of space, hurtling somewhere beyond.

But whatever lie waiting for them there, whatever trials may come, Obi-Wan knew he would have this. Someone to fall back on. Laughter to recall. Little seeds of memory, rooted in his heart where nothing could touch them.

Because maybe he hadn’t found his family here, not in the way he’d expected.

But he’d found family all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for following this story! Not to get mushy on you guys lol, but I’m relatively new to Ao3 and the whole online side of fandom, so all your comments and kind words really mean the world and have made me feel so welcome 😊 I’m so grateful for all the kudos and love! 
> 
> As always, I love to hear from you in the comments, or come say hi on [ Tumblr! ](https://kckenobi.tumblr.com/)


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